


Look At Me

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Belts, Dom/sub, F/M, Light BDSM, Orgasm Denial, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-09-13 05:32:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9108634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'could i request a prompt with angry fight kinda sex with Mike Nesmith. mike and the reader get in a fight because she had suspicions of him having sexy time with a girl from set. something with a dom mike and sub reader.' I tried.





	1. Chapter 1

“Darlin’, I’m home!”

You do not move from where you are lying, arms folded, eyes narrowed, on the sofa. You’ve been glaring like that at the TV for over an hour now, the anger in the pit of your stomach finally too much for your facial muscles to contain. You’ll be honest, it’s starting to hurt your eyes.

“Honey? Where are you…”

The door opens, and Mike appears, sweeping into the room in his leather jacket and shades, with a beaming smile.

“Oh, there you are! Goddamnit, girl, y’all need me to yell louder or somethin’…?”

You don’t even look at him, and he finally realises that, perhaps, you were ignoring him for a reason. He looks up at the clock.

“Uh… sorry, sweetheart. Time kinda got away from us, y’know.” You look at him. “Aw, c’mon, woman, what’s the matter?” You look back at the TV, and you hear the first signs of displeasure enter his voice. “Sit up an’ talk to me.”

“Where were you?” you ask, icily, and you hear him take off his coat.

“None of your goddamn beeswax, little lady,” he says, hotly. Ah, that’s Mike. _Defensive_. “We were at Pete’s house, like I said we might be.” You nod tersely. “Look at me.” You don’t.

“So, who’s this… what’s her name? The blonde?” you say, and there’s a pause – no intake of breath, but Mike’s better at lying than _that_. “Was she at Peter’s house too?” You stretch out your legs, and shrug. “Huh?”

“I don’t think I like your _tone_ ,” he says, and his voice is warning-low, but you don’t take the hint, instead, clearing your throat. “Look at me. You got somethin’ to say to me, _little girl_?”

You shrug, refusing still, and can tell by the way the light is blocked out he’s stood at your feet.

“ _God-fuckin’-damn-it, I said look at me!_ ”

You feel his hand on your wrist and you are jerked up to sitting – you snatch your hand away and jump up, glaring at him. His eyes are flashing amber with rage, and you step back. Well, you have his attention.

“What the hell has gotten into you, li’l girl,” he snarls, and you glare at him defiantly. “You forget who you belong to?”

“You forgot who you own,” you shoot back, and next second he’s lunged for you; you’re suddenly back against the wall, his hand squeezing your jaw as the other hand tangles in your hair.

“I ain’t used to my property talkin’ back,” he says, voice almost inaudible. “You look at me, li’l girl, you keep your eyes _real_ focused on your master now.” You narrow your eyes. You’ve got his attention. He’s yours, at least for the time being. He pulls the top of your shirt aside. “Where in the hell is your day collar anyhow?”

“Someone forgot to put it on me this morning. Guess he was too excited to see-”

 _Slap_. You gasp, and he pulls your hair, lowering his hand.

“I ain’t said you can talk.” You feel the blood rush to your cheek as the sting fades slowly. “You look damn pretty like that. Maybe a collar ain’t necessary. Y’all can wear those marks.” He pulls your hair back a little. “Think I don’t see what you’re doin’, little girl? Think I don’t see a jealous little _bitch_ when I got one tuggin’ at my coat?” You look down at the floor.

 _Slap_.

Now your other cheek stings.

“I _said_ , eyes on me.” You look back up. “You got anythin’ better than your master to look at?” You shake your head, and stare into those deep, dark eyes. “My, you’re almost agreeable when you ain’t mouthin’ off.” He pulls on your hair again, and you whimper in pain, feeling the adrenaline shiver through you. “Now, honey, sweet thing…” The way he says ‘thang’ makes you shiver again. “You want to accuse me of something? Tell me the truth. An’ don’t look away, or by hell your ass is gonna sting for a fuckin’ month.”

“I know she was there.” Your voice sounds almost pathetic now. “You… I’ve seen you two on set with each other. You left without putting on my day collar and…” Your lip trembles a little. “You d-didn’t kiss me goodbye…”

He sighs, and lets go of your hair, before his hand goes to your throat.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. I am gonna fuck you, because by god, I do love to surprise you like this, I _ain’t_ gotten any today.” You stare at him. “Then we’re gonna discuss this like real adults.” He squeezes, and you gasp. “I did say _then_. You gotta wait.” You feel the world swim, and he lets go slowly, the world coming back into focus. “Get your shirt off, fuckin’ teach you not to be on your goddamn knees when I walk in…”

You pull your t-shirt off over your head, and he watches you appreciatively.

“Goddamn, woman, who’d step out on that, anyhow?” he murmurs. “Turn around.” You do. “Hands against the wall. Ass out.” You assume the position, and hear him pace around you. “God- _damn_.” You feel him hike up your skirt, and his hand rests on your arse, palm heavy and hot through the cotton of your panties. “I said ‘ass out’, c’mon.” You lean forward, and aren’t prepared for the pain as he spanks you.

“Ah!” you gasp, and hear his laugh.

“You wanna excuse me of steppin’ out on you, baby? You gotta have more faith.” Another whipcrack, and your arse stings once more. “Wow, we are really gonna have to get some more toys, your ass is real nice that shade of red.” There’s a moment, and you hear something – like cloth rustling. Is he taking his pants off already? But you’re not-

 _Crack_.

You nearly scream. That wasn’t his hand. That was-

“Oh, shut up. That wasn’t even the buckle end. _That’s_ a fuckin’ punishment.” But his rough fingers gently soothe the pain, smoothing over your skin. “You can have six of these, and then I’m gonna fuck you, like I said.” There is no _okay?_ , no questioning. You know you can say no – you can use your safe-word, which you know _will_ stop him. You’re not sure if you can take this…

 _Clap_.

You sob, and he pulls your hair back, not as harshly as before.

“Take it.” His voice is flat, and you nod, shoulders shaking. The belt bites at the top of your right thigh for three, and your fingers curl against the wall. You feel… humiliated. “You don’t get a choice.” You can safe-word out of this, you can… but you don’t want to. Number four hits you at the top of your left thigh – at least he’s keeping it even – and you whimper in pain. “Two more. Come on.” You nod, and his fingers keep the grip in your hair. “Two…”

_Crack._

You curse as the belt bites you again, and he yanks on your hair.

“Be fuckin’ ladylike. One.” You rest your forehead against the wall, and try to control your breathing. When is he going to do it? You wait, and wait, his fingers tangled in your hair, and then you go to turn your head.

“Wh-”

 _Snap._ You _do_ scream that time, the blow is so unexpected, and he laughs, releasing your hair.

“Don’t move.” There is the sound of movement, and then his voice comes from by your waist; you feel him slide your panties down, and awkwardly step out of them. “Already bruisin’… good. Every time you sit on my knee you can remember accusin’ me of lettin’ anyone else sit there.” You shiver, and yelp as he gently strokes his thumb over the marks he’s left. “They’re gonna need some attention, but first…” You look over your shoulder, and he looks up at you. “Did I tell you to move? Did y’all like that so much you wanted more, huh?”

You turn back, shaking, and he stands up, before kissing up your shoulder gently.

“Here I was,” he murmurs, almost tenderly, “rushin’ back home to my girl ‘cause I knew she’d be all fretful I was gone, and what do I come back to? A tantrum.” The slight stubble of the day scratches at your neck, and you pant as his fingers continue to gently stroke over the belt-marks, goosebumps at the sensation on your sensitive skin. “Next time you’ll be pleased to see your master, right?”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, and you feel him smile as his mouth presses to your skin again.

“Good girl.” You hear the sound of his zip, and your chest heaves as you arch a little. “Fuckin’ slut. Look at you, all eager for me…” You know by now that despite how good the sight behind you will be, you should not look around, and instead focus on the wall – you feel him press his fingers into you slowly, and moan, chest heaving. “Next time…” The threat hangs in the air, and he fucks you slowly for a few seconds like that, letting you whimper and pant. “You’re so wet. Love it when you get what’s comin’ to you, don’t you…”

“Please, Mike-”

All he has to do is slide his fingers out of you and squeeze your ass, and you whine in pain as the bruises and welts burn suddenly.

“Shu’up,” he murmurs, and you whimper in response before he presses his erection up against you. “Be a good little whore…” His accent turns that last epithet into the sexiest word in the world, and as he slides into you, it turns from a growl into a faint gasp. “Well, f-fuck…”

You moan wordlessly, pushing back against him, and he grips your hip with one hand and your hair with the other, pulling you close. You feel his cotton shirt against your back, his chest beneath it, and then he kisses your bare shoulder again.

“Fuck, you’re good, honey,” he moans, and his teeth nip at you as he thrusts into you again. “G-gahd…” His voice rumbles deep in his throat and he pulls on your hair; as you tense and tighten up around him, he curses again. “Fuck, yeah, baby…” You grind back against him, desperate for relief, and feel his chest heaving; he doesn’t speak for a few minutes except to curse, concentrating on fucking you so hard you have to lean your head against your arm to avoid being pushed into the wall, not caring except to tug on your hair or squeeze your cheeks to make you tighter for him again. When he growls, low and deep in his throat, that’s how you know he’s close, and as his fingers sink into your arse once more, he kisses your neck again. “Baby, you’re gonna make me cum real good,” he moans, voice broken and low, and you desperately grind your hips against him, needing the friction to get you off. He reaches around your neck and pulls you back, kissing your shoulder as he chokes you a little, and you feel him still for a moment before he thrusts into you, hard and arrhythmic, teeth sinking into your skin as he cums hard. Each snap of his hips rubs against your belt-marks, and you whimper, half from arousal, half from pain.

He lets go of your throat, and then slides out of you, exhaling shakily. You wait for a moment before looking round gingerly, and the sight of him, white shirt unbuttoned down to his chest, pants undone, dishevelled and chest heaving, makes you groan from lust. He pulls his underwear back up and zips them, before glancing around and picking up your panties.

“Put these back on,” he says, and your jaw drops. “Oh, don’t look so damn hard-done-by, woman, you can damn well behave yourself next time and maybe then you can come.” You flush, and angrily pull up your panties, before he pushes you up against the wall again, kissing you hard; you feel your anger melt a little, and he slides an arm around your waist. “That was for this mornin’.” He kisses you again, a little softer, and his other hand goes to your face, stroking your cheek gently. “And that’s for now.” You smile, a little. “Anyhow… ‘fore you got all tetchy, I got a surprise for you.” You raise an eyebrow. “Put your shirt on, woman, that chest is indecent.”

“We’re in our house,” you murmur, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, an’ I got work to do and how am I gonna do it with those on display, ma’am?” he grins; your smile spreads, and he hands you your t-shirt. “Anyhow…” He guides you gently to the table. “Went outta my way to get these, an’ all. Knowin’ I was late home, like a jackass.”

On the table are a beautiful bunch of red roses, and he grins as you put your hand to your mouth, feeling a little guilty.

“I think you paid your dues. Now, girl, let’s get some goddamn dinner. I wasn’t eatin’ any of that hippy shit ‘round at Peter’s.” He slaps your ass, and you wince. “…okay. Aftercare first. Then, I want my goddamn dinner.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: 'i'm in need of some very fluffy mike nesmith maybe some like after sex mike or part two of the smut one you did awhile ago.'

“Look at me.”

 You look up, and smile as Mike readjusts your collar around your neck, rough fingers on your soft skin.

“Good girl. Ain’t you just pretty as a goddamn picture,” he murmurs, and you curl up to him, allowing those fingers to skate over your bare side and down to your waist and along, where they begin to gently drum against your hipbone. “You makin’ all that goddamn fuss, and for what…?”

“I may belong to my master, but…” you grumble quietly, and he smiles. He is fully dressed, lounging on the sofa like a wolf; shirt, tie and pants at odds with that rough Texan accent. You are naked but for your leather collar, and you like it that way.

“My possessive little lady. Get yourself up here.” He pulls you up towards him, and strokes his fingers through your hair; you purr a little, and he shakes his head again. “You’re not worried, are you?”

“…maybe,” you say quietly, and he sighs. Is he angry?

“Do you…”

“I hear things. And sure… you own me.” He does – it didn’t seem like something you even chose, but something that was meant to be. His fingers toy with your collar. “But… I don’t own you-”

“(Y/N).”

It feels so odd to hear him call you that. You look up and those warm brown eyes staring at you – there’s concern in there, and a little hurt.

“You think this is one way?” He tugs on your collar gently. “You know what this means? You’re mine – you let me put this on you every time we play. You get that, right?” Now it’s your turn to stare. “If you say stop, or walk away from me… it don’t matter how much I wanna do it. You’re my submissive, sure, but I’m your master, sweetheart. _Yours_.”

“You mean that?” you asked quietly, and he nods sincerely.

“That thing around your neck might as well be a goddamn wedding band.”

“But you don’t wear anything that means you’re mine,” you mumble, head suddenly buried in his side; you feel your cheeks flush. Granted, you two are serious, but that was the closest he’s ever come to referencing that you two might get married.

“I don’t, that’s damn true, but… I don’t have to. I know it, and if I’m doing my job… not that bein’ your Dominant is a chore, sweetheart – if I am doing it right, you should damn well know about it.” He cradles your face gently, lifting it so he can stare into your eyes. “And if you don’ know about it? I am not doing my job correctly. I don’t wear anything that means I’m yours… but you do. That’s not just a one way thing, honey.” He tugs your collar again. “That means I’m yours.”

“Oh, Mike…” You clear your throat. “M-Master.”

“All yours. Always. Don’t want no other sub anyway, goddamn. I always said I wanted more of everything, but you… you’re enough.” You cosy up close to him, and he exhales gently, before wrapping himself around you. “Jesus. I can barely keep up with one.”


End file.
